Distance
by minachandler
Summary: Nyssa reflects on her changing relationship with Laurel, but her attempts to convince herself that her feelings are merely platonic come to a halt when she chances upon Laurel at an inopportune moment in her apartment. Smut.
1. fee qalbi

Nyssa shouldn't be here.

That much she knows – even as she turns the corner and reaches Laurel's apartment, the back of her mind is full of misgivings. It's the middle of the night, after all, and for all Nyssa knows, Laurel is asleep. And even if she isn't, Nyssa is here on a whim; spontaneity has carried her all the way here, spontaneity and what she has decided on the way there to be nothing more than a meaningless infatuation.

At least, that is what Nyssa tells herself. She cannot possibly be falling for the sister of her beloved. To do so would be sacrilege of the highest order, surely – and yet, nowadays, it is not Sara who flits into her mind's eye in the rare hours of Nyssa's slumber.

No, it is Laurel, all parted dark red lips (smiling against hers) and unpracticed hands and droplets of sweat trickling down her neck and disappearing between her breasts.

The first time this happened, to say Nyssa was unnerved would be an understatement – and Laurel (beautiful, intelligent, astute Laurel) knew as much, too.

 _"What's on your mind?" she asked Nyssa, stretching her arms in the air and warming up in preparation for another sparring session in the Wildcat gym. (It had been abandoned ever since its owner died and had become their regular training spot.) Nyssa was sitting in the corner, back against the wall, hugging her knees and watching as Laurel lifted her arms and stood on her tiptoes. As she did so, her t-shirt rode up, exposing her toned midriff. "Nyssa? You've been acting off ever since we got in here. What's going on?"_

 _"Not what... whom," Nyssa replied after a moment. She was aware of the ambiguity in her statement, but she could not be any more forthcoming about her feelings. Not when they were for her._

 _But then to her surprise, Laurel was at Nyssa's side in a flash, kneeling beside her, her hand going to touch her shoulder. "It's okay," she said softly. "I know how you feel."_

 _"What – what do you mean?" Nyssa said, her eyes widening, holding her breath and watching as Laurel regarded her with what looked like sympathy. And then, just as suddenly, Laurel stood up and picked up her gym bag_

 _"Come on, I'm taking you for a coffee." Nyssa didn't say anything, just regarded her incredulously, and Laurel said, shouldering her bag, "This is about your father, isn't it?"_

 _"Laurel –"_

 _Laurel shook her head. "Look, I think we've gotten to the stage where I can call you my friend, right?"_

 _"I do not have friends." But when Laurel's face fell, she amended, "Just one."_

 _And at that, some of the hurt in Laurel's expression disappeared and her eyes brightened once more. "Well, friends talk to each other. And they listen. And I've talked to you enough about my daddy issues to know it's about time I returned the favour. Especially because I can tell it's bothering you more than you let on. So come on. We'll train another time, okay?"_

 _"You still have a lot to learn," Nyssa reasoned._

 _"You do too if you think I'm going to take no for an answer," Laurel replied, and when she extended her hand to Nyssa's, Nyssa found herself taking it and letting Laurel pull her to her feet._

 _"I see stubbornness is hereditary in your family."_

 _"Damn straight," Laurel said._

 _And, indeed, Nyssa found that the Laurel who continued to crop up in her dreams was not only every bit as stubborn and unrelenting as the woman who sipped her coffee and listened to her talk and squeezed Nyssa's hand reassuringly as she confided in her. She was also just as beautiful, her hair just as soft, her mouth the exact same sensuous shade of pink that curved into a smile at all the right moments._

It's difficult, therefore, as she climbs easily up the wall so she can enter Laurel's apartment through the window (as she always does), for Nyssa to ascertain in her head why she's even there. She knows Laurel isn't patrolling tonight – she has a case she has had to work on solidly for the last two days.

So is it to talk again, to find solace in each other's company in a way neither of them ever expected? Nyssa certainly did not think the day would come where talking about the woman she loved would be a nostalgia that she revelled in, looked forward to, even. But it has. And that is all this is – training with Laurel, reminiscing with her about Sara, seeing in Laurel so many of her beloved's traits – it is all simply Nyssa's way of holding onto what little there is left of her yellow bird.

 _"There is one thing I do not understand," Nyssa said, swallowing a mouthful of her scone before reaching for her cup of tea._

 _"Shoot." Laurel licked her fingers, which were covered in jam and cream, and Nyssa found herself lowering her gaze and trying to focus on their conversation (and not the way Laurel let out a quiet_ mmm _of culinary satisfaction)._

 _"Why do continually insist on my being a good person... despite knowing everything I have done, the lives I have taken?"_

 _"You're an assassin," Laurel reasoned. "It's kind of in your job description."_

 _"And that does not bother you?"_

 _To her surprise Laurel laughed. "What, like what you did today when you managed to tackle me with one arm – you're going to have to show me that one day, by the way – are you trying to ask if I'm not ever afraid that you're going to use that same arm to snap my neck?"_

 _"No, I do not expect you to be_ afraid _of me. I would never hurt you."_

" _I know that."_

" _I just... fail to understand why you do not think less of me knowing who I am."_

 _"You're not the only one who's killed people."_

 _"Yes, of course Sara –"_

 _"I meant me," Laurel interrupted, making Nyssa start. "Not that many, sure, but I have. And just this year I tried to kill two people. I would have if no one had stopped me."_

 _Her tone was casual, flippant, almost, but it was clear she was expecting judgement from Nyssa. Disbelief, perhaps._

 _"What was his name?" Nyssa asked, making Laurel raise her eyebrows._

 _"How did you know it was a man I killed?"_

 _"You and your sister share a penchant for wanting to rid the world of evil men."_

 _Laurel smiled. "You're not wrong. His name was Daily. Officer Daily."_

 _"He was a police officer?"_

 _"Yeah. He was a bent cop in the precinct who was working for Sebastian Blood –"_

 _"– who was working for Slade Wilson," Nyssa finished. "I see."_

" _Yeah, I shot him just as he was about to kill Oliver. To be honest, it messed me up more than I thought it would," Laurel admitted._

 _Nyssa sighed. "I expect nothing less from someone like you."_

 _But Laurel shook her head. "It was more because I was having... a pretty rough go of it at the time. Not so much because I had a conscience." Nyssa opened her mouth as if to disagree, but Laurel then continued, "To answer your question – I know you're a good person. Not just because you protected my sister and saved her life, and not just because you supported me and said you believed in me at a time when no one else did."_

 _"Then why?"_

 _"Because I knew who my sister was in her heart. And I know she fell in love with you because she saw the person you are and have always been in spite of your past. And that person is a good person."_

 _For a moment, Laurel's candour left Nyssa speechless. Then she said, "You have far too high an opinion of me."_

 _Unexpectedly, Laurel took hold of Nyssa's wrist, her thumb pressing ever so gently against pulse point, which suddenly rocketed at her touch. "No, I don't. I'm just telling you what she saw. And what I see."_

Bolstered a little by these thoughts, Nyssa slips inside Laurel's apartment, jumping onto the floor with the practiced weightlessness and agility of a cat. Laurel's living room is empty, Nyssa observes, and the lights are off, so she makes her way quietly up the hall. Her bedroom door is open, the light on, which is a somewhat encouraging sign. At least Laurel is awake.

It's then, however, that Nyssa halts in her tracks, because at the exact moment that she reaches the door there's a loud creak and groan of bedsprings before she hears a sound that makes her heart drop to her stomach –

Laurel _moans_.

And suddenly Nyssa finds it hard to breathe, because the visceral sound that whips through the night air is a hundred times more real than anything Laurel has said or done when haunting Nyssa's dreams. It's melodious, and the hum of satisfaction that follows is even more musical to Nyssa's ears.

She knows she shouldn't; she knows she should turn on her heel and flee as quietly as she came, but there's something that roots Nyssa to the spot, making it impossible for her to move. So despite herself, she squints through the small gap between the door and its hinges, and instantly Nyssa's breath catches in her throat – Laurel is lying on her bed, eyes closed, hand between her legs, her back arched as another moan ripples through the room.

Knowing she should look away, Nyssa scrunches her eyes shut. But immediately in her mind's eye is the sight of Laurel's breasts pushing into the air, supple, unrestrained by a bra and the thin white t-shirt doing nothing to conceal her fully erect nipples jutting out against the sheer material. Nyssa's eyes fly open, the tortuous fantasy her mind is concocting becoming too much for her, and she can't for the life of her tear her gaze away from Laurel through that gap.

The room is bathed in a dim glow, illuminating Laurel's hair so it seems golden in the light, almost like a halo splayed on her pillow. When Nyssa looks closer, she can see Laurel's panties are around her knees, and she watches as Laurel bites her lip in concentration and slides her fingers further inside herself.

It's then that Nyssa becomes painfully aware of the ache that has settled stubbornly between her legs. Nyssa crosses them, squeezing her thighs together to try and alleviate the throb of arousal she can so potently feel in her groin. It doesn't do much, though, and when Laurel reaches up with her other hand and lifts her shirt up to expose her breasts, Nyssa's surprised her own knees haven't given way beneath her completely. Nyssa holds her breath, watching as Laurel – eyes still closed – caresses her nipple with the tip of her thumb, then rolling it between two fingers. In the light (and in spite of the fact that she really should look away) it's hard to ignore how beautiful Laurel is; her skin is smooth, the centre of each breast a rich, dusky pink as they push forward into the air once more. Laurel pants softly, and it's once she hisses with pleasure that – unable to ignore her body's betrayal of her a second longer – Nyssa's hand finally goes inside her pants, her fingers at last beginning to relieve the throbbing feeling at her hot, wet centre.

She continues to watch Laurel, though, because it seems like she's close – her breaths are becoming more laboured, and with each one Nyssa herself becomes wetter, her essence dripping warmly onto her fingertips and dampening her underwear, having to bite her lip to stop any noise coming out of her mouth. Laurel's gasping now, and even though there is a couple of metres' distance between them, Nyssa can just imagine Laurel's fingers thrusting inside herself, toes curling around the sheets so they become as dishevelled as her hair and the little clothing she still has left. The thought alone makes her force herself to exhale softly, gently, before she holds her breath and listens, waiting for Laurel to come.

With one final gasp, Laurel does just that, and there is a soft thud as she collapses on her bed, breathing heavily. It's only as Nyssa proceeds to push her own fingers further inside herself, trying to alleviate the desire that is still very much present in her groin, that she hears Laurel's sigh – and the name she utters immediately after.

"Nyssa..."


	2. fee ruhi

Everything changes when Laurel says Nyssa's name.

Laurel says it slowly, elongating it, stretching out its sibilance, not at the height of her climax but just as she hurtles back to earth. It makes Nyssa's hand freeze for several moments, and despite the door and the wall between them, she's never felt closer to Laurel. It's only then that she realises she is holding her breath.

Nyssa is rarely shocked. It usually takes a lot to even surprise her, and yet the entire time she has known Laurel Lance, all she has done is catch Nyssa off-guard. Somehow, in the relatively short time they've gotten to know one another, Laurel has always been able to get Nyssa to lower the walls that have always firmly been in place with almost everyone she has encountered in her life.

 _"It's Tommy's birthday today," Laurel said suddenly. Her voice was a little muffled from where Nyssa had her locked in a half-nelson. But then, much to Nyssa's surprise – and with a loud "oomph" of effort from Laurel – Laurel took control, managing a well-aimed back-kick into Nyssa's knee and then flipping her over so Laurel was suddenly on top of her, one hand pinning Nyssa's wrist to the floor._

 _For a moment, they just stared at each other, Laurel breathing heavily (her body was flush against Nyssa's so each rapid rise and fall of Laurel's chest Nyssa could feel), blonde hair darkened with sweat. Though Laurel's stance was victorious, though, there was no mistaking the pain in her eyes._

 _"Nicely done," Nyssa said. Laurel seemed to take that as her cue to get up, perhaps mistaking Nyssa's lack of movement beneath her for discomfort._

 _When Laurel turned away to take a sip of water, Nyssa found herself springing to her feet, extending her hand towards Laurel. But before Nyssa could touch her shoulder or say anything, Laurel said quietly – as if more to herself than to Nyssa – "I'm sorry, I don't know why I..." She trailed off, shoulders slumping, not quite finishing her sentence._

 _"You do not need to apologise. I understand." Then, when Laurel still hadn't turned round, Nyssa grasped her shoulder this time and said softly, "I understand what it feels like to lose someone – particularly when it is someone you loved."_

 _And to Nyssa's relief, Laurel did turn slowly on her heel at those words, meeting Nyssa's eyes. "You'd think, with time, it would be... easier. And this time last year, it kind of was. I had just gotten Sara back, and just having her alive and in my life was enough for me to get through the difficult times – because at least my sister was by my side. But now I just – I miss her, and I miss Tommy, too. And I guess it's hard for me because when I lost Sara, I found Tommy, and when I lost Tommy I found Sara again, and now –"_

 _"– you have lost them both," Nyssa finished for her. Laurel nodded, sitting down on the gym mat and crossing her legs. Nyssa did the same, sitting opposite her. "I am sorry."_

 _"You don't have anything to be sorry for," Laurel said automatically._

 _Nyssa smiled ruefully. "I seem to recall you saying something different several months ago about Sara's death."_

 _Unexpectedly, Laurel held out her hand, and after a second's hesitation, Nyssa took it. Laurel's palm was warm, her pulse steady beneath where Nyssa's thumb brushed against it._

 _"I was wrong. All you ever did was try to protect my sister."_

 _Sighing, Nyssa said, "Clearly I did not succeed in that."_

 _She made to let go of Laurel's hand but Laurel wouldn't let her. Nyssa's throat suddenly felt constricted, and she bit her lip, managing to suppress the wave of guilt that moments before had threatened to overcome her._

 _"Hey. I know from experience that nothing good comes from blaming yourself. Don't go down that road, okay?" And when Nyssa didn't reply, Laurel continued, "By the way. I may have lost people I care about, but what keeps me going is the people still in my life who are important to me." Laurel hesitated again, waiting for Nyssa to meet her eyes once more before she said, "People like you, Nyssa."_

This is different, though. All this time as Nyssa has struggled with how her feelings have changed for Laurel – not once has it really, honestly occurred to her that those feelings would be reciprocated. And the very idea is so foreign to her that for several long seconds, her mouth is open, jaw slack with disbelief at the sounds that continue to permeate her ears.

In the immediacy of her orgasm, Laurel's breathing begins to slow. She continues to moan gently, though, a soft, lilting, utterly euphonic song that does nothing except torture Nyssa further – but in such a pleasurable way that once again it is impossible for her to move. And when Laurel lets out a sudden unexpected cry of pleasure, Nyssa can't stop herself looking through that gap between the door once more.

Already Laurel is touching herself again, and Nyssa's not sure why but the fact that she knows, now, that Laurel is thinking about her makes her feel less guilty for watching her in the midst of such intimacy. Perhaps that is why Nyssa manages to let go of the restraint she had tried so desperately to cling to in the past couple of weeks.

 _"Try not to move," Nyssa said. They were in Laurel's apartment, a first aid kit open on the floor alongside Laurel's boots and leather pants. Laurel was on her couch, her mask still in one hand, her wig flung somewhere behind her. Nyssa knelt beside her with a needle in hand. Attempting to tighten the stitch she had just sewn, Nyssa stared at Laurel's bare thigh, as if she could will it to stop quivering._

 _"Sorry," Laurel said. For some reason, her hand was shaking too, so much so that she dropped her mask and it fell to the floor._

 _"It is most likely just the adrenaline," Nyssa assured her. She looked up at Laurel, her hand hovering over her thigh. "May I?"_

 _Laurel raised her eyebrows. "You don't have to ask." Nyssa didn't say anything in reply, just placing her hand on Laurel's leg to steady it, hold it in place while she finished suturing the bullet wound in her thigh. It was fairly shallow, thankfully, but when Nyssa pulled the needle higher, Laurel let out a muffled cry._

 _Normally, Nyssa was fine with pain – she was at a stage where she barely felt it physically, and when she inflicted it upon other people she had trained herself over the years not to be perturbed by it._

 _But with Laurel, somehow, it hurt Nyssa – more than she expected and certainly more than she was willing to let on. "Sorry," she found herself murmuring._

 _"'S'okay," Laurel replied, wiping the sweat away from her forehead with the back of her hand. "I would take something for the pain, but you know... that's for wimps."_

 _Nyssa managed a smile at Laurel's joke, knowing perfectly well why Laurel couldn't take any medication despite the horrendous amount of pain she was surely in. She reached down for some gauze, and when she straightened up, she realised Laurel had unzipped her jacket and was slowly taking it off._

 _Immediately, Nyssa's gaze dropped back to the wound on Laurel's leg, and she worked quickly to dress the wound with gauze and tape it into place._

 _"Thank you," Laurel said gratefully._

 _"Next time," Nyssa told her firmly (or as firmly as she could when she was on her knees in front of Laurel as she was clad in just a lacy black top and panties), "do not underestimate your opponent."_

 _Laurel nodded, sighing. "Got it."_

 _And after zipping up the first aid kit, Nyssa got to her feet, turning her back to Laurel and making to head to the kitchen so she could wash her hands._

 _"Hey, you're staying for pizza, right?" Laurel called just as Nyssa reached the living room door. Nyssa looked back. Laurel was on her feet now, her jacket draped over her arm. Her legs were long, tantalisingly so, and combined with the fact that what little clothing she was wearing was black and lacy, it was hard for Nyssa to concentrate on what Laurel was actually saying. "I could do with some food. And maybe a distraction so I don't crave those really tempting pain meds quite as much."_

 _For a moment, Nyssa considered, and in that time, Laurel had joined her in the doorway. "I do not know how much of a distraction I can provide, but I will stay if you wish. On one condition, however."_

 _"Yeah? What?" Laurel asked. She sidled past Nyssa, still holding her gaze questioningly._

 _"You know what." Nyssa fixed her with a meaningful look._

 _And then Laurel smiled properly for the first time since she was shot, and Nyssa found herself smiling back. "Fine. No pineapple. If you insist."_

It is for that reason that Nyssa doesn't stop herself imagining how sensitive Laurel must be right now. Nyssa watches hungrily as Laurel's fingers slip back inside herself, knowing she will gasp quicker, with more frequency – yes, like she's doing now – and Nyssa bites her lip, trying not to make a sound as Laurel shifts on her bed, moving up a bit and making the headboard creak.

The movement means Laurel's face is no longer in Nyssa's line of vision, but she continues to watch, her own thighs clenching around the fingers that are still inside herself. And then, as Nyssa's toes curl in her boots and she stands on the balls of her feet, she feels another warm rush of arousal in her core as Laurel whispers again, "Nyssa..."

It sounds like a prayer, a reverent utterance of grace, and that alone is enough to make Nyssa temporarily lightheaded, forcing her to lean against the wall for a moment for support. Her vision clears in time to see Laurel spread her legs wider, while squirming under her own touch, so caught up in heightening her pleasure that she does not notice her panties still around her knees. Nyssa watches as the material strains against Laurel's legs and then, not entirely unexpectedly, there is a soft tearing sound as the lacy fabric gives way at last.

Still, Laurel barely notices, simply disentangling the offending garment from her limbs and tossing it aside before turning on her side, her back to the wall (and Nyssa). And then all Nyssa can make out is the soft curves of her body's outline – the swell of her breast, the way her waist goes gracefully inwards and then her silhouette is rounded outwards at her hip. Nyssa waits, all wet fingers and bated breath, and she can tell (with unexpected accuracy) from the sound Laurel makes that her fingers are hovering at her entrance.

Nyssa closes her eyes once more, imagining herself at the foot of Laurel's bed, watching as Laurel parts her thighs, digging the heels of her feet into her bed, head thrown back, fingers encircling her centre. Still, nothing can prepare her for the keening moan that leaves Laurel's lips when – presumably – her thumb presses on her clitoris, and Nyssa can tell from her own thunderous heartbeat and the elevated level of throbbing between her legs that she's close herself. She waits, holds her breath, trying to stave off her orgasm (for some reason she wants to come as Laurel does), and seconds later she is rewarded by Laurel's loud whimper that becomes a long drawn out cry of obvious pleasure.

Nyssa's eyes are squeezed shut now, and she tries her utmost to control her breathing and bite back her own moan as she (quietly as possible) reaches her climax before slumping against the wall. Exhilaration fights the yearning Nyssa suddenly feels to march into Laurel's bedroom and claim her mouth with her own and make her come all over again – but as the cloud of lust finally begins to clear in her mind, she knows she cannot, even with the knowledge that they feel the same way about each other.

And part of it _is_ about Sara. Nyssa does not want to follow in Oliver Queen's suit when it comes to betraying the love of her life – and for her beloved's sister, no less. But as she listens to Laurel's breathing (slowly steadying as she recovers from her second orgasm), Nyssa knows she would be lying to herself, if she tried to convince herself that there isn't another reason for her maintaining the distance between them.

The real truth is that Nyssa has not, cannot, _will_ not accept the notion that Laurel could possibly fall for a killer like her. Nowadays, yes – following her exile from the League, she has exercised more restraint, for Laurel's sake. But that does not take away from the fact that still inherent in Nyssa's soul is a darkness that Laurel does not and will never deserve to be subjected to. Laurel deserves true happiness, the kind that someone like Nyssa could never provide for her. And Nyssa knows, as surely as she knows her own name, that if Laurel knew everything Nyssa has done in her life, if Laurel was exposed to even a sliver of the darkness in Nyssa's soul, she would not be whispering Nyssa's name with nearly as much gentle reverence. No. She would be recoiling in disbelief – as she should.

Nyssa bites her lip, holding back the wave of emotions that for a second threaten to overcome her. But she's made her decision to keep her distance. And it is with those thoughts, and an unassuageable ache in her heart that lingers for hours after, that at last Nyssa turns on her heel and leaves Laurel's apartment as silently as she came.


End file.
